


whether you're in sweatpants or dressed in prada

by Radioabsurd



Series: All About Andrew Spencer [4]
Category: Love Victor (TV 2020)
Genre: Bisexuality, Black Character(s), Boys Being Boys, Boys in Chains, Boys in Skirts, Crossdressing, Dysfunctional Relationships, Earrings, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Makeup, Not Beta Read, Parent Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Character Death, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, multiple short chapters, so yeah.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radioabsurd/pseuds/Radioabsurd
Summary: "In no time he’s standing back up and smiling wildly with three gaps in his mouth and oversized red heels on his feet."or: andrew loves wearing ties. He likes the way chains look in the belt loops of his jeans and likes the way muscle tees frame his shoulders. He especially likes the way he looks in suit jackets, in sweatpants, in high tops, and loves how ice looks around his neck, in his ears, and on his fingers.sometimes, though.sometimes it's not suit pants and designer shirts he wants to wear. sometimes its crop tops and plaited skirts.
Relationships: Halle Spencer & Andrew Spencer, James Spencer & Andrew Spencer, James Spencer/Halle Spencer, Mia Brooks & Andrew Spencer
Series: All About Andrew Spencer [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875220
Kudos: 4





	1. the beginning of red heels (one)

**Author's Note:**

> all mistakes are mine :) 
> 
> enjoy, though ! :))

The first time he wears something out of the ordinary, it’s a Saturday and he and his mom are playing dress up. 

_“Drew, baby, look at you!”_

_His mom smiles at him, her brown eyes glinting with happiness. She’s sitting on the hardwood floor of her bedroom, back against the dark grey bed sheet that’s hanging from the loft bed. He steps forward awkwardly and almost promptly falls. Her laugh seems to accent the soft sunlight drifting through the room, seems to crystalize the tiny particles of dust highlighting the air, seems to ring in his ears even after all those years._

_He laughs with her before putting his small hands under him and pushing himself up. In no time he’s standing back up and smiling wildly with three gaps in his mouth and oversized red heels on his feet._

He doesn’t know yet, but that memory stays with him forever.


	2. draw your significance in red (one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> andrew muses about the color red.

There’s something about the color red. 

It’s...dark almost, yet, impossibly light. 

Then again, maybe red means so much to him because it was his mom’s favorite color. He remembers the way she used to parade around the house with red heels on before a big performance. He remembers the way her red earrings would dangle to her neck, a sharp contrast to her sepia, reddish-brown skin tone. He remembers the way she would kiss him on the cheek before school, laughter in their eyes as he would walk into the building, pride flooding his chest at wearing his mother’s _red_ mark. 

It’s just- 

There’s something about the color red.


	3. make-up stains and heartbreak drains (one)

When he was younger, he was outrageously pigeon-toed and clumsy. He grew used to small pains throughout the day, grew used to small marks he didn’t know about appearing on his body. His mom used to say each mark and cut and bruise and scratch was a tribute to the life he held, a painting that depicted every trial he went through. 

She made it sound like magic. Like his clumsiness was an _art_ , like every mark on his skin held a story worth telling. 

When he was younger, every Saturday, he and his mom would play dress up. He would do her make-up, drawing purple and red on her lips and laughing at the way the golden bronze shined from the sun through the barely covered windows. There was something simplistic in the way his mom taught him about make-up. She was an artist through and through, and, to her, make-up was just another expression of art. His fingers would be stained with mascara, dark smudges underneath his short fingernails, and strokes of foundation on his wrist. 

His mom taught him that less was more, taught him that make-up was used to enhance what was already there, that make-up was used to draw attention and showcase one’s natural beauty. 

She taught him that make-up was extra, not essential. 

She taught him, one Saturday at a time. 

She taught him until she didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy this one :) also, I just realised what I was unconsciously doing with this story and how I was labeling the chapters lol.


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